


An Unlikely Meeting

by cofax



Category: Farscape, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 04:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cofax/pseuds/cofax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, who can resist Winchesters in Space?</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unlikely Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This is for [](http://vaznetti.livejournal.com/profile)[**vaznetti**](http://vaznetti.livejournal.com/) and [](http://hossgal.livejournal.com/profile)[**hossgal**](http://hossgal.livejournal.com/), who inspired it, and any of my other pals who might get a kick out of it. Yes, it's a crossover. No, there's not much of a plot. And no, it doesn't make a lot of sense, either: don't look too close at the foundation.

Another dingy commerce planet; another dockmaster trying to screw them; another lead that went nowhere. Dean came out of the bar scowling, and when Sam opened his mouth, obviously intending to say something encouraging, Dean snapped, "Don't even, Sam."

Sam pursed his lips in that ostentatious way and shrugged, leading the way down the alley. Dean followed, settling his shoulders under the weight of his coat and half-wishing he'd pushed that frellnik bartender just a little harder. Taking down a Luxan would feel just great, right now.

Instead of turning back towards the main drag, Sam took them deeper into the warrens, where the refuse was piled high along narrow passageways and unnameable liquids splattered under their boots. Dean curled his lip at the smell, but didn't say anything--just _sounding_ like you might not belong was enough to get you killed in some of these places. And the black leathers he was wearing were enough to set him apart, here far outside Peacekeeper territory.

Sam fit in a little better, still wearing the soft cloth pants he'd had on the night Jez died, the night Dean yanked him out of the fire again. Student clothes: not tough enough to stand up to life in the Uncharteds, you would think. But Sam was toughening up fast; the Codirian who lingered in the doorway ahead looked away when Sam met her gaze flatly, not bothering to hide the force-knife strapped to his hip. Dean let a grin come and go, at the thought of Sam taking on the tentacled bitch: Winchester height and speed versus inhuman flexibility and those damned poison claws.

They came out of the last passageway into daylight, and Sam nodded with satisfaction. Ancient bricks crumbled under their boots, worn to their constituent atoms by the millions of feet that had passed through this marketplace over the millenia since Bedi Prime was settled. Faded banners flapped overhead in the light of the twin stars, and the chants of the vendors echoed off the graffitti-covered walls of the arcades.

A dozen peoples or more gathered here, selling everything from pillows to pulse-pistols from a thousand worlds, Dean thought in disgust, and none of them had seen even a shadow of John Winchester. He spat to the side, and didn't turn at the outraged howl from the bloated Hynerian exiting the cafe they were passing. He couldn't wait to get off this planet.

"Hey! Hey, you frellnik!" A white hand grabbed his arm, yanking him to a stop.

Dean looked down at the hand, then away. "Sam," he said. "Sammy!"

Sam paused and looked back, his eyes widening.

"Sammy, tell me there isn't a filthy _Nebari_ touching me."

Sam threw a glance around them; so far nobody was paying attention, the crowd diverting around them like water in a creek. "Ah, sorry, Dean."

"Dren!" Dean spun, knocking the Nebari's hand away, and pulling his weapon in the same movement. "Getawayfromme," he said in one breath, keeping his finger off the trigger with an effort of will.

The Nebari--_this_ Nebari--was a girl, a young thing, all swiveling hips and flexible spine, staring at him from under a ragged mop of white hair. "You're the one who started things," she challenged, not backing down from the threat of the weapon. "You're the one who spat on us!"

"Tell him to apologize, Chiana," announced the Hynerian, powering a frelling _floating sled_ up behind her. Keeping her body between himself and the pistol, Dean noted sardonically. "No one spits on a Dominar without regretting it."

"Dominar!" burst out Sam, his eyebrows raising. "Sure, you are." _Here?_ was the subtext: royalty clearly hadn't set foot on this pisspot of a planet since the days when the Peacekeepers actually _did_.

Dean relaxed a little, shifting his weight off his toes and letting his breathing ease. She was just a girl, with her... pet, he decided. Nothing worth freaking out about. "Surprised you even noticed, your lizardness," he said. He couldn't take down a Luxan, not without bringing down port security, but these two? He didn't even need Sammy at his back to handle this. "And I'll do more than spit on you, darlin, you put another hand on me."

The girl snarled back, her hands splayed, hips swaying, and Dean braced himself. "Dean--" said Sam warningly, but he didn't have to worry. Dean wasn't going to use chakkan oil on these wastes of air.

But Sam's gaze snapped to the right, just as a voice cut through the multi-lingual background rumble. "Hey, Pip, Sparky--'sup?"

Dean turned smoothly, keeping the girl in his view and bringing his gun up just a bit. Not aiming, not yet.

_Frell._ Two Sebaceans, tall and armed. Neither had drawn a weapon yet, but the Sebacean male's hand was resting on the butt of his pistol as he glanced from Dean to the Nebari girl and back again. Black Peacekeeper leathers, much like his own, and Dean had a sinking feeling that these two really _were_ Peacekeepers. Sam moved up on Dean's left, standing at an angle to cover their backs, in case a squadron of Luxan commandos were about to come from the other direction. Not that a pulse pistol, three force-knives, and half a dozen steel blades would do much good, then.

"Oh, just about to beat the dren out of this one, Crichton," said the girl, her pale eyes--who had eyes that color?--narrowing in triumph.

"Oh, yeah?" snapped Dean back, unable to resist. "I'll cut you before you even touch me."

Sam elbowed him, hard. "Shut up, Dean," he hissed. "Don't start anything."

"Why not?" Dean muttered back. "It's just a Nebari tralk and her pimp--"

But he didn't keep his voice low enough, and maybe that was a mistake. Because he'd never seen anyone draw a weapon as fast as the Sebacean woman did, and the man's eyes, which had been curious, went ice-blue.

The Hynerian cackled. "Crichton, I think we've finally met someone stupider than you."

"Damnit, Dean," sighed Sam. "Don't you _ever_ catch the news?"


End file.
